Bloodred Senseless
by kate jones lives
Summary: How Sydney evolved into Dark Sydney--what led up to it was more than you thought possible.
1. Vampire

Bloodred Senseless- Chapter 1: Vampire  
  
  
The bartender came and took away her empty martini glass. He glanced at her face, wondering if she wished to have something else. "Vampire," she said, staring him in the eye and willing him to tell her she had drunk too much. Sydney looked around as she waited for her fourth drink. No one seemed worthy of a one night stand at this point in time. Everyone she looked upon was gyrating to the music with someone else. She had half a mind to go up to a guy in a tight navy shirt and kiss him senseless, asking with her eyes who he wanted to spend the night with as she trailed her fingers across his chest.  
  
Her drink arrived, the blood red liquid sliding down her throat a matter of seconds later. Her messy updo lost a strand of hair—it came and brushed her neck, making her tingle. She brushed it away, flicking the strap of her halter top in the process. Her breasts were showing in the v between the two straps. She almost had not worn the top for that reason and the fact that it ended above her navel, but it no longer bothered her after three and a half drinks. The tight leather pants stretched across her muscular legs she had forgotten about after her first drink. They just barely revealed the minute word nice tattooed on her lower back—a word the world thought of as an adjective but she and one other person thought of as a place in France where anything goes.  
  
Finally, Sydney's roaming eyes landed on a man standing a few feet away. He was alone, which she took to be a good sign. He could be here for the same reason as her, or he could be meeting someone. Well, that wasn't her problem. She watched him scan the crowd has she had done.  
  
From two yards away, the man caught her gaze. She looked back steadily, never one to become embarassed easily. He stood—he looked to be six feet tall—and started making his way towards her. Sydney could see that his brownish eyes and hair set off rugged features as he came more into focus.  
  
"Up for a game of pool?" So tall-dark-and-handsome spoke. She noticed the pool cues in his hand for the first time. He must be between games, she figured. There was only one answer to his question, and it was a good answer.  
  
Sydney replied, eyes looking up through dark eyelashes with a heavily flirty tone. "Only if you are." She swirled her vampire with her right hand—which, luckily, had only a little left or would have all spilled. The heat of the club's atmosphere was causing her to perspire. Beads of sweat slid between her breasts. The man's eyes were definitely not still on her face.  
  
He looked back at her eyes and handed her a cue, keeping his hand over hers a bit too long. She downed the rest of her drink and put the glass back a little too hard. She stood up and hooked her arm through his, not wanting to lose the catch of the night (nor—reminded something deep inside her—did she want to lose her balance). He led her to the furthest pool table, one shrouded in darkness and set in a surprisingly empty corner.   
  
The rest of the clubgoers seemed miles away as Sydney watched him set up. He seemed to be taking an extra long time. Every so often he would look up at her, as if to make sure she didn't leave. Don't worry, she felt like saying every time she returned his glance with a sultry smile. I'm not going to leave you tonight. After that—watch out.  
  
"You first, or me, Sydney?"  
  
A flash of almost-alarm crossed her face before she sidled up to him and placed a hand on his arm, saying, "And exactly how do you know my name?"  
  
"I've asked around," he replied simply. Before Sydney could wonder who he asked, he added. "I'm Michael."  
  
Real alarm this time. She didn't know if she would be able to stand sleeping with a Michael without moaning a different name. "You first," she said, forcing herself to stop thinking of that night. Michael started walking past her to get in position, but she accosted him, grabbing his wrist and pulling him against her so she could plant her mouth on his. After a few seconds of uncontrollable passion, she said, "Go ahead." He gave her a smile and started his turn.  
  
Immediately, everything that had forced her to come to club in the first place was pushed to the back of her mind. She forgot Sloane's confession, Francie's worries, Will's joy, and her own sadness. She forgot what had happened hours before. She forgot breaking up with him.  
  
-  
  
Vaughn watched from across the club as Sydney leaned on the edge of a pool table, cue in hand. With a few too many drinks in her, Sydney didn't seem in the proper state to do anything. But she had shouted at him less than three hours previous for not treating her like an adult. And though she did that every few weeks, she was no less serious about it this time. It was time to let her make her own decisions. Turning back to her one last time—no doubt wondering if that man could have been he—Vaughn pushed the door open and stepped out.  
  
-  
  
this is assuming s/v did stay at the inn that night, but everything else still happened. imagine they were having breakfast when kane's agents showed up. imagine weiss won't imagine what they did, lol. you can. 


	2. Three hours ago

Bloodred Senseless- Chapter 2: Three hours ago  
  
  
three hours earlier:  
  
Sloane stood in front of Sydney, possibly trying to make himself look taller to her as she sat in a chair in his office.  
  
"Sydney," he said, "I've always been honest with you. And you have been like a daughter to me, especially around the time of my wife's—passing." He took a breath. "But there is one thing I haven't been truthful to you about."  
  
"What is it?"  
  
"It's hard for me to explain without making you angry."  
  
Since when had Sloane cared about emotions? "Go ahead," she said.  
  
"Alright. Sydney, SD-6 is not a part of the CIA."  
  
"What?" Though Sydney had known this for years, she feigned confusion.  
  
"No, it isn't." Then he looked out the window his door was and abruptly changed the subject. "It was me who killed your mother. I was the person who crashed into her car on that bridge all those years ago."  
  
"Why are you telling me this now? You had so many opportunities, especially when she was found again!"  
  
"I felt it had to be done."  
  
What had to be done? Sydney felt like asking. A girl growing up without a mother?  
  
After a few moments of silence, he spoke. "That will be all. Good luck in Miami."  
  
"I don't need your luck, you son of a bitch."  
  
-  
  
two hours earlier:  
  
Sydney sat sipping coffee across from Francie, her facade revealing nothing of what had happened before she had come home. Francie was going on about something—a guy, she deciphered, from repetetive mentionings of someone named Michael. It caused her to smile and think about her own Michael, who would be waiting to see her in an hour.  
  
"Why are you smiling?" Francie exclaimed suddenly. "This is not a good thing!"  
  
"I'm sorry, Fran—I was just thinking."  
  
"Oh. Well I'm still worried about Michael. If I tell him I think he's cheating, he might not be and then he'll break it off. But I really like him! Am I a cheater magnet or something? Three of the guys I've dated in the last three years have accidentally run across some hot blonde."  
  
"Relax, Francie. Just wait a day or two. Then, if you're still suspicious, just tell him."  
  
Before Francie could reply, Will burst in the front door. Behind him was Anna, his girlfriend whom he had met six months previously. Both of them had huge grins on their faces, and Anna's hand was on Will's arm. They hurried toward the twosome in the kitchen. Sydney stood, about to put her empty coffee mug in the dishwasher.  
  
"Syd, don't move. We did it."  
  
"You did it? Did what?"  
  
"We're married!"  
  
Sydney looked at Francie, shocked, before placing her mug on the counter and pasting a grin on her face as well. She went over and hugged them both. "Congratulations, you guys! But wait, didn't you say we could come to your wedding?" she chided, raising her eyebrows.  
  
"Yeah, we did," Anna replied mischieviously, "but we were in Vegas and we thought, 'Why not?' "  
  
Sydney remembered that a few years back, Francie had been in the same predicament. Of course, she hadn't gotten married at all. "Well, congratulations again!"  
  
"I wish we could have been there." Francie gave Will and Anna hugs.   
  
"We're sorry, Fran, but you can plan the reception!"  
  
"The reception? Vegas weddings don't have receptions."  
  
"We're going to have have one anyway. Next Saturday, I was thinking. We both have to work this week."  
  
"Oh, what am I thinking? Let's break out some wine!" Francie said, excited. Her mood seemed to be connected to a light swtich—right now, it was happy. Francie had obviously forgotten about Michael. Sydney got the wine glasses and smiled again.  
  
-  
  
one hour earlier:  
  
Sydney stalked away, tears forming in her eyes. So many of the agents around her were staring, but she neither looked at them nor behind her, where she had left so much of herself. She brought her hand up to her face, brushing away the remnants of her life when she had been happiest. She was sure he would be watching her retreat, unable to do anything about it. He would feel so guilty, but it wasn't his fault. It was all hers. Her temper had gotten the best of her and she had unleashed all the anger she had bottled up for months, years. None was directed at him—never could she remain angry with him—but he had been in the line of fire when she had gone off.  
  
She reached the exit, not wondering if she should turn around and try to make amends. He would reach for her, of course. He loved her now, and always would. He was the one she turned to when she argued with her father, mother, herself. She couldn't think straight when he was near—he was her Achilles heel.   
  
There was no other way she could do this without falling apart more than she already had.  
  
A hand pushed the swinging door open. An arm, weak, supplied the energy she no longer had. A leg stepped through the cleared doorway. An aching heart caused Sydney to wait for the door to close behind her before collapsing, her face in her hands.  
  
-  
  
now this was definitely fun to write. i know i stole that one line from 'counteragent', but please review your overall opinion. it really does help my plotlines and style. 


	3. Stops for

Bloodred Senseless- Chapter 3: Stops for  
  
  
"Eight dead agents." Kendall shook the daily situation report at Jack Bristow's face. "Eight."  
  
"I have nothing to add, other than the fact that I wonder why we are receiving this information now when these agents were killed weeks ago."  
  
"That is immaterial. There are eight agents dead, their bodies found in Nice. That's in France, Jack. Somewhere your daughter just was."  
  
"I don't understand your point."  
  
"Was SD-6 tracking her?"  
  
"Sydney? No."  
  
"Are you sure? She wasn't under suspicion because of your investigation—"  
  
"You're not implying that Ariana Kane connected her to me, are you? Will your connections to that stop nowhere?"  
  
"You never know."  
  
Jack stared at Kendall, boring his eyes into the other man's. "I think you know the answer to that." With that, Jack left, yards away in seconds.  
  
"What the hell is he talking about? I have no idea." Kendall looked for the usual agent—the one who knew where Vaughn was at all times. "Where is Agent Vaughn?"  
  
"Meeting with Agent Bristow, sir," he answered. "Mikro Self-Storage, CIA front, address—"  
  
Kendall had already started towards the exit. A matter of eight stoplights later (the ones he actually stopped at), he arrived at the CIA front company. He pushed his way past the guard, who let him pass, obviously knowing who Kendall was. His footsteps seemed unusually loud, but it could have been because a migrane was starting to take over his senses. Without having asked, he knew that the agents would be meeting all the way in the back of the building, which meant more footsteps, which meant a worse migrane.  
  
Finally, the back wall of the establishment came into view. And instead of seeing two agents talking to one another, he found Agent Bristow pressed against a wall kissing Agent Vaughn. Without waiting, he went off on them, surely stopping both of their hearts and shocking them hideously.  
  
"This has been strictly forbidden by so many things I don't have enough time to say them, not to mention your little CIA protocol." By now, the two agents had separated with a large gap between them and straigtened themselves up. "Either you end this on your own, or I will contact Devlin." He took a deep breath, looking at both Agent Bristow and Agent Vaughn. "Do either of you know anything about the eight Federal agents who were killed in Nice three weeks ago? Hurry up, I'm getting a migraine and you two are definitely not helping it."  
  
Something passed between the two people before Kendall—he could tell, even though neither moved. "I didn't hear about this at all. Where in Nice? Near the airport?" Sydney asked, anxious for some reason.  
  
"No, at restaurant. At three in the morning."  
  
"Have we found out—"  
  
"No to whatever you're about to say. My head is pounding and I can't give you any more answers."  
  
Kendall somehow returned to the Joint Task Force Center. He didn't exactly know how, but he did see Agent Vaughn appear half an hour after he did. And he did hear some people muttering past him as he stared at a computer screen, honestly trying to read it.  
  
"Vaughn and Sydney got busted today at their debrief."  
  
"Doing what?"  
  
"Do you have to ask? I thought it was obvious."  
  
-  
  
"Is that it, Mom?"  
  
"I'm afraid so," Irina replied. "I'm not quite familiar with Portland, or Maine in general."  
  
Sydney smiled. "I don't think very many people are." She started to pack up, folding her pad and slipping the pencil into the spirals. "Thank you."  
  
"You're welcome." She carefully watched Sydney stand, timing her words perfectly. "Give Agent Vaughn my regards tonight."  
  
Sydney froze. "Tonight? I doubt I'll see him again today after I give him your intel."  
  
"You're seeing him, aren't you?" Even if Sydney had not replied, she would have figured it out. She had already uncovered everything when both of them had visited her within two days of their coming back from Nice. This was just proving that now everyone knew.  
  
The rumors—true, all of them—could not have possibly made their way into Irina Derevko's cell. "No." She stood in front of the first gate. It seemed to stop for her, right when she wanted it to move faster.  
  
-  
  
I have no memories  
no fixation  
on what seems to be  
or what should  
  
it's all something new  
it's all so different  
  
I doubt I can survive  
  
interminable  
defines it too perfectly  
life doesn't seem true  
  
I can only stop for—  
  
-  
  
that's the extent of my poetic ability. did it connect? how was the rest?  
is it too confusing that I keep going further back in time, or does it make sense?  
does anyone have any favorite parts yet? sorry that this is all questions; it's still my first fic. 


	4. Doorways

Bloodred Senseless- Chapter 4: Doorways  
  
  
Without stumbling, Sydney and Vaughn made it to the elevator that would take them to the inn. Vaughn pushed the up button, feeling Sydney's eyes burn his hand. The doors opened seconds later, which threw both of them off guard before they stepped in. Sydney looked at the buttons and laughed. She pointed and read aloud, "Restaurant or Inn?"   
  
Vaughn laughed and replied, "There isn't a 'None of the above' option?" Sydney shook her head. "The inn's fine, then. Unless you're still hungry."  
  
She pushed the top button, and it lit up. The doors closed; she turned to Vaughn. "Definitely not. The food was so great; I don't think I'll eat for a week." She smiled and leaned back—and suddenly turned, feeling something too cold for a warm elevator.  
  
The entire back wall of the elevator was a glass window that gave them the perfect view of Nice at night. Sydney sighed, placing her fingertips on the glass. "If there was one place that I wish I could live without being watched, it's definitely Nice." Vaughn made a sound of agreement and added, "I came here as a kid with my parents. You should see it in the summertime—it's positively filled."  
  
"I'd like to see it sometime."  
  
There was a silence as they watched the city shimmer in the night's darkness. Vaughn broke it, asking, "Does it feel like this is taking too long?"  
  
"Yeah," she replied, dazed and still looking outside.  
  
Just as she spoke, the car dinged and a recorded message played. "Merci du choix pour rester à Rousseau. Nous espérons que votre séjour sera bon."  
  
The doors opened. They stepped into what looked and felt like an American five-star hotel. "If this is an inn..." Sydney started, trailing off as the lush surroundings finally got to her.   
  
Beside her, Vaughn read a sign. "Rooms forty through fifty are at the end of this hallway."  
  
They reached the room in less than a minute—but it might have felt longer because of the combination of anxiety and wine in them. "Here it is. Room forty-eight." She waited for Vaughn to open the door. He pulled the key out of his pocket and unlocked it, motioning for her to go first. She pushed the door open and flipped on the light switch.  
  
It was like walking into a world of gold. The window treatments, the wallpaper, the bedcovers—everything had a golden glow about it. Sydney placed her coat on one of the armchairs in the room, Vaughn put his on a different one. They sat on the edge of the bed, staring at nothing; contemplating. Vaughn was sweating in his black shirt, but he wasn't quite sure it was for that reason. After a few minutes, Sydney looked up and said, "I dont think wine would help this situation at all."  
  
"I agree." He took a deep breath, as if building up the courage for what he was going to say next. "Okay, since we're both drunk—"  
  
"Tipsy," Sydney interjected.  
  
"—drunk," he repeated, "I'm going to say something I usually wouldn't say at all."  
  
"I think I know what you're saying." She smiled and slid closer to him.  
  
"So what do you say?"  
  
"You mean, you really want to—"  
  
"It's completely up to you. We'll stop when you say."  
  
"You're serious?"  
  
He smiled. "You realize that's the second time you've said that today."  
  
"Then I have the same answer." She gazed into his eyes.  
  
"Really?" He had to make sure it wasn't the wine speaking.  
  
"Yes." It was. "But can we do this over?"  
  
"Do what over?"  
  
"Coming into the room?"  
  
"Whatever you say." They left the room. Confused, Vaughn pulled the door shut and they stood outside, awkward no longer. "So..."  
  
"Turn the knob, but don't open the door."  
  
"Okay—" Before he finished the monosyllable, she was upon him, crushing his mouth with hers. He staggered, struggling to regain his balance as they fell through the now open doorway.  
  
-  
  
The door slammed open without notice. Sydney stepped out from the bathroom, a towel still in her wet hair. Three men dressed in black came in, each holding a machine gun. She pulled her towel off and whipped the first attacker, throwing him off balance. A few swift kicks put him and another down; Vaughn got the last one. They picked up the guns and fired at the two others that followed. Three more appeared when the second group went down. Sydney picked up two new guns and fired. The new men fought back, but they too joined their comrades on the floor in a matter of seconds—no match for a woman with the guns and the know how.  
  
A trickle of blood started flowing towards Sydney. It stopped a foot away from her and started forming a little puddle. A bloodred puddle. Of naught but blood.  
  
Sydney fell to her knees, staring the pool of blood, clearly shocked. She threw the guns off to the side, ignoring the loud smash she heard when they hit the wall. She spoke to no one in front of her, looking out the cleared doorway. "I didn't—it wasn't supposed to happen that way—"  
  
Vaughn dropped beside her, taking her in his arms. She buried her face in his shoulder, crying. "They weren't supposed to die," she sobbed. "I didn't mean to kill them."  
  
"Shhh. You're trained to stay alive, whatever you have to do." He rubbed her back, attempting to comfort her but failing. "If not for yourself, stay for me."  
  
The tears streamed steadily on both sides.  
  
-  
  
for some reason this chapter seems a little weird to me... i don't think i'm as good as this as i am with the angst. (and my french is definitely rusty, but the translator told me that the above meant: Thank you for choosing to stay at Rousseau. We hope your stay is nice.) 


	5. King of hearts

Bloodred Senseless - Chapter 5: King of hearts  
  
  
Sydney leaned on the cue heavily, ignoring the fact that it might not hold her weight. She glanced at the bar and back to Michael, sending him a message. He raised a finger for the bartender to see. A few seconds later, a dry martini sat on the edge of the pool table before Sydney. She lifted it to her lips and downed it, save a tiny bit. Michael sidled up to her and asked, "Good?"  
  
"See for yourself," she replied. She put the last of the drink in her mouth and kissed him harshly. He licked his lips and motioned to the bartender once more. In front of them appeared a grasshopper. This time, Sydney took the glass from the man and smiled at Michael. "More?"  
  
"Do I ever." He placed a hand on her neck and bit her earlobe. A tremble flew through her before she moved so Michael was between the table and her. She took a sip and blindly put the glass on the table far away from them, accidentally smashing it. The green liquid tinted the already green felt, but neither Sydney nor Michael were watching it. She pushed Michael so he lay on the table and climbed on top of him, attacking.  
  
-  
  
The top came off faster than she had been able to put it on. There was no doubt—adrenaline had a rival. The leather pants were a completely different story. Even in her drunken state, she was adamant that they not be ripped off in the heat of the moment. It seemed they were stuck to her legs or to her huge muscles, but Michael had no trouble breathlessly pointing out the possibility that they were stuck to her hips. This, of course, was not what one said to someone they were about to make love to, but Sydney was unaware of the comment. The struggle to become undressed was not helped by the fact that they were in the dark. Or that the closet they occupied felt no bigger than an airplane bathroom.  
  
Finally without clothing, Sydney and Michael ricocheted across the tiny room, taking in one another fully with their hands and mouths. Their sounds were definitely not masked by the flimsy door that Sydney found herself pressed against more than once. The primal feeling that came over both of them raged on inside for what felt like hours.  
  
The first words out of Michael's mouth as they attempted to reinstate their clothes were, "You're better than nice."  
  
"Who said I was nice?" Sydney asked, distracted once more by the leather pants as she combed the floor with her fingers, searching for them.  
  
"Your tattoo."  
  
"It doesn't say nice, it says Nice."  
  
"What the hell is Nice?"  
  
"A place. In France."  
  
"Important enough to get tattooed on your ass?"  
  
"It's not on my ass." It was obvious that she wanted to end this conversation.  
  
"Oh." He waited for the rustling to stop. "You done?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Hungry?" he asked, opening the door for her.  
  
The sudden light caused her to stop for a moment, letting her pupils adjust. "Where do you want to go?"  
  
"Your choice."  
  
"Let me get my shoes." She picked them up from under the pool table they had used and slid her arm through his. "Surprise me."  
  
-  
  
He made sure she was deep in slumber before reaching over her and pulling his phone out of the glove compartment. Muting it, he dialed seven digits. The engine purred a little as he waited for an answer.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"I have Sydney Bristow."  
  
"She was never missing." There was a touch of panic in the other man's voice. Sydney Bristow was a very well known asset.  
  
"I know, but she's in no state to get herself home. And I'm not about to take her there."  
  
"Okay." There was a pause. Surely the agent was informing someone else of the situation. "We're sending someone over to retrieve her."  
  
He didn't ask how they knew where he was; it just wasn't a question. "Where are you taking her?" It wasn't that he cared for her. He wanted to make sure she would be safe. She was important.  
  
"Not home."  
  
"Keep her under surveillence."  
  
"Trust me, she will be."  
  
"Don't inform my father of my being in Los Angeles."  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
He hit the end button and looked to his right. Sydney shifted in her seat and exhaled loudly. He took a deep breath and shifted out of park.   
  
-  
  
i couldn't just skip all this or the story would be more confusing than it already is. i take that back; this is definitely more confusing now than it was before, what with the "plot twists."  
eh, it's official: i dont like this chapter. maybe the stress of exams causes me to write better...  
my motto for this story? drunk sydney prevails! drunk kate does not. 


	6. Away somewhere

Bloodred Senseless - Chapter 6: Away somewhere  
  
  
Michael watches in the rearview mirror as three men get out of a black Mercedes behind him. They move quickly, opening the unlocked door, scooping up the woman sitting beside him. The last of them gently shuts the door; they've assumed he is asleep.   
  
He still keeps his eyes on them, sees two slide into the front seats. The other sits in back, pulling Sydney in with him, reaching over her to shut the door. Michael is surprised, surprised he can see such detail in the darkness that two o'clock in the morning brings. He sees her literally flop on him, her head falling into his lap.   
  
The man pulls off his mask as the car drives past him. Michael starts, his muscles tensing. He revs the engine and follows them, now unsure if she is truly in the proper hands.  
  
-  
  
The sun was bright—too bright, but it was noon according to her watch so the unnatural brightness was apparently supposed to happen. Luckily, she was wearing a tight gray top and black shorts. The heat enveloping those around her seemed to pass her by. She ran along the green grass of the park, timing her footsteps to the pumping music on her headphones. She usually ignored the words; it was the beat that drove her.  
  
'I can see it in your eyes  
there is something  
something you will not tell me'  
  
This run was different. The sun had been the first indication of that. The second was that she was listening to the words. What startled her, what threw her off for about a nanosecond, was that she could understand and comprehend them. She found herself lipsynching along after a while, and stopped immediately, forcing only the resounding beat into her mind.  
  
'I see it in your eyes  
there is something  
something you hide from me'  
  
Of course she was hiding something; she hid everything from everyone. Sometimes she was not entirely sure of her own feelings. Michael—her Michael, the one she had loved for so long—knew more about her than she did. He knew, knew when she was upset over a disagreement with her father or mother, when she was excited over something small like a new hairstyle. They had been told to publicize their relationship, but hadn't done it themselves because it had leaked out. They did nothing, said nothing; acted as if all were the same as it had been before. When civillians were around, people who remained unknown, they acted like any other couple. She felt a smile spread her lips and a warm feeling filled her. Suddenly aware of those around her, she cleared her mind. Focused on the pounding beat yet again.  
  
stops near a bench, leaning on it, catching her breath. vaughn suddenly appears in front of her and starts debriefing her. she has no idea what he is saying. she stretches a little and starts running again. she looks back and sees vaughn staring at her.  
  
Sydney stopped suddenly, a sharp pain on her left side. This was odd; she was in great shape and didn't get stitches. She moved off the path towards a bench. Not far off was a black man who looked like he had seen better days. From her place leaning on the bench, she could just make out a cardboard sign reading "Vietnam Veteran" beside him. She turned to the road and rubbed her side gently.  
  
"Hey, Syd."  
  
She looked up, surprised. It was Vaughn. "Hi. What are you doing here?"  
  
He smiled, his dimpled grin somehow removing all doubt from her mind. "Cute." He then proceeded to debrief her, a professional look covering his momentarily boyish countenance. The mission he spoke about, it was unfamiliar at best. Sydney blamed herself inwardly for this lapse of her memory, but didn't have the heart to stop Vaughn and ask what the hell he was talking about. A flash of sadness pulsed through her as he appeared to finish; this wasn't planned, she couldn't wrap her arms around him, couldn't kiss him goodbye. As he added his usual "Be careful" she stepped back away from him, returned to the path once more. She could feel his eyes on her, his wrinkles appearing on his forehead, as he tried to decipher the message she was sending him.  
  
There was no message. She had remembered the angry words shot towards him in a frenzy of emotion—emotion different than the type she usually gave him. She couldn't forgive herself just yet.  
  
-  
  
Sydney's run had slowly reduced to a jog, and somehow morphed into a moving meditation period. She recognized no one around her—a good thing, for a familiar face would have jarred her from the calm phase she was in. Her music, long since forgotten, was secretly seeping into the thoughts running across her mind.  
  
Not far off was a small sidewalk cafe, one of those things usually seen in a documentary of Europe. The sun was bouncing off the black metal chairs and tables, creating the illusion of steel. Hypocritical as it was, Sydney found herself itching for a hot mocha as several beads of sweat rolled down her neck. The people drinking and eating and talking came into focus, all bringing an oxymoron to life as they sipped on coffee less than one hundred yards from her. A couple close to the edge of the road caught her attention and held it for a little too long.  
  
A woman with closely cropped blonde hair was sitting, smiling brightly at the man beside her. She looked familiar to Sydney for reasons unknown. The man's face was hidden from view, but a slight look to his left proved her first instinct to be true.  
  
The man was none other than Michael Vaughn, whom she had grown to think of as her Michael. Him sitting with another woman was more than unfathomable. It was impossible.  
  
'I saw you yesterday with an old friend   
It was the same old same how have you been  
Since you been gone my world's been dark and gray'  
  
Her breath caught in her throat as she passed the cafe, nearing an intersection. The light turned red just as Sydney reached it. She held on to the poll, unable to stand straight. Her state of mind was muddled as her brain went into overdrive, speeding up everything from her heartbeat to her theories.  
  
'I put your picture away   
Sat down and cried today'  
  
The light changed and she crossed quickly, leaving behind her questions, not looking for answers.  
  
'Livin' my life in a slow hell'  
  
-  
  
"This is it?"  
  
"Yeah. Wake her up."  
  
"I thought we were—"  
  
"So did I, but while you were snoring I got a call from the boss."  
  
"Of all places he could have transferred her to, he picked this one? We drive two fucking hours and this is where we drop her? Why not some hotel back in LA?"  
  
"Do I look okay with it or something? I think it was because of the guy who found her."  
  
"The guy in the car?"  
  
"Yeah. Know who his dad is?"  
  
"Why would I? I thought he was an agent."  
  
"He's not an agent. His father's Alain Christophe himself."  
  
-  
  
i am so sorry this has taken so long; i've never written a lyric-inspired section before, and i've just overcome a huge block. the lyrics are from 'something' by lasko, 'picture' by kid rock and sheryl crow.  
the mood is lightening—i'm begging my angsty touch to come back.  
i agree with you, alud. this is confusing in a good way. this way i kind of know what's going on.  
  
note: the use of the word 'black' in place of 'African-American' is meant to show how the average person's mind works. please do not take it as anything more. 


	7. Much as it was

Bloodred Senseless - Chapter 7: Much as it was  
  
Sydney woke abruptly, the repeated pokes to her shoulder obviously doing their job. She barely blinked before she was forced to register what was going on around her. In front of her face was the barrel of a handgun, light from an unknown source bouncing off the round metal. She took a sharp breath and set her jaw. "Are you trying to make a point?" she asked the face behind the gun.  
  
"Get out of the car. Follow me." He took a step back, making room for her on the black pavement. Sydney put a foot out of the car and realized that it was missing its shoe. She pondered playing blonde and searching for the black stiletto on the floor of the car, but someone behind her pushed her out. Her foot hit the cold ground. Two men dressed in black-one of them her orderer-were whispering a few feet away.  
  
"Those shoes cost two-hundred dollars," she spat, exaggerating the figure hugely. "Someone is going to pay for this. And when I find out which one of you was touching me-"  
  
"Shut up, Agent Bristow," interrupted the man who had spoken earlier. "Nothing of the sort occurred."  
  
Sydney was shocked but refused to show it. Her bare arms shivered and she rubbed them with her hands, trying to warm them. Her hands were cold as well. The man who had pushed her out of the car gave her a coat. Judging by his bare arms, it was his. She glared at him, the only one of her three abductors that had failed to remove his ski mask. "Am I supposed to stand here all day?"  
  
"Feel free," said another man sarcastically, but not the man who had offered her his jacket. He seemed mute.  
  
Finally, minutes later, the two men ended their conversation and beckoned to the third. They said something to him, and he nodded, grabbing Sydney's upper arm. She tried to pull away from his grasp, but he held firm. He dragged her into a building on the other side, the two others following. A neon sign down one edge of it read simply HOTEL. "Too cheap for the Hilton?" she asked, not anticipating an answer. She didn't get one.  
  
They arrived at a door, three stories above their car. It was painted gray, with metal numbers nailed into them. 3B. Letters in hotel rooms usually meant there were two adjoining rooms. "Is there a 3A?"  
  
"Yes." The first man who had spoken to her. "Right next to you. I'll be there."  
  
"Great. I'm sure you'll protect me." Her words earned her a slap across the face. She put her hand up to her cheek, it now burning and red.  
  
"Sarcasm will get you nowhere in life." He turned the knob and gave her what was supposed to look like a gentle push. She stumbled and turned, watching them smirk. At the last second, a high heel flew through the door. Her other shoe.  
  
-  
  
Sydney surveyed the room quickly, noticing the window with its curtains drawn and the phone beside the bed. Pulling the drapes aside, she was faced by blacked-out glass. She tried the phone, but no dial tone came out of the earpiece. She sighed, expecting no less from these captors.  
  
She went into the bathroom. The temperature seemed unusually high, but she welcomed the heat. Fluffy towels sat on the edge of the counter, joined by a neatly folded robe. Below the counter was a miniature fridge, filled with bottled water and two gallons of milk. Now she noticed several boxes of cereal sitting beside the fridge. So they anticipated a stay of moderate time.  
  
Left to her own devices, Sydney had nothing to do. She was tired, but no longer cold. Hanging on the wall across from the bed was a flat-screen television. The surprise of discovering such an expensive luxury did not cross her. She grabbed the remote and started channel surfing, finally landing on Headline News. The problems of others and the rest of the world began to bore her quite quickly, and she switched the channel to MTV for background noise, getting off the bed and doing a few simple stretches. She started imagining the three men were before her, just begging for a fight. Every kick, every punch was effectively blocked by all the defensive moves Sydney had ever been taught.   
  
After working up quite a sweat, she sat back on the bed. The clothes she had chosen for the club were definitely not appropriate for being kidnapped, although she did not consider this a real kidnapping. She turned off all the lights and climbed under the sheets, pulling the comforter over her body. Convinced she was covered enough, she pulled off her clothes and tossed them over the edge of the bed, her body easily relaxing as she sank into the soft mattress.  
  
-  
  
The door adjoining the two rooms is open, and they speak quietly despite their beliefs that she is asleep. Their conversation is mainly of her; what were they doing with her here? Sydney has no idea either.  
  
She turned on to her left side, trying to inconspicuously hear more of their words. They ignore her. Footsteps start, quickly making their way through the open doorway. It is the third man, the one who had not spoken or removed his head covering. Upon closer examination through her squinted eyes, Sydney realizes that his head is bare. In the dark room, however, she is able to make out nothing that could trigger her memory. She sees him stand yards from her bed and watch her, his shoulders squared as she feigns even breaths. He turns around and leaves, not bothering to close the door behind him.  
  
Sydney slips off the bed, wrapping the sheet around her. She steps up to the doorway, peering through, hoping to catch sight of the mystery man; he is right in front of her. Suddenly, he turns, as if he somehow sensed that she was now watching him. The tuck in the lip, the unruly blonde hair. She knows who it is before he speaks, but as he does he reveals himself. "Hello, Sydney."  
  
From somewhere behind her, a single shot is fired. She feels the bullet lodge itself on the back of her right shoulder, the dark blood already staining the creamy sheet.   
  
-  
  
it feels like it has been almost a month since i have added to this story, and i am SO sorry. but we can all gang up against my teachers for forcing me to do about four huge projects and have them all due the same day. and I, being the procrastinator that i am, have not finished them all.  
i hope you all vote for me on the sd-1 fic awards. i dont expect to win or anything, and i nominated myself strictly for publicity purposes. still, please reply with your opinion on they crazy plot twists i've crammed into this chapter. 


	8. Gone

Bloodred Senseless - Chapter 8: Gone  
Vaughn was gone. She had spent an hour crying, part of the time in the tub and the rest in her car. There wasn't a part of her that hadn't shaken from the violent sobs that had been extracted from her very soul.  
  
She had known that there would be a day, a day that's reason for being was to ruin her ability to love. The day had come too quickly, though, and the pure shock of not being able to run to Vaughn in her moment of pain was still registering.  
  
Tears had flowed freely at first, but towards the end her reserves seemed to disappear. It was dry sobbing then, loud and scratchy. Her moss green bathrobe stretched tightly shut, she sat down on the edge of her bed, trying to get it out of her system but knowing it would never happen.  
  
She went to the kitchen to make some tea to soothe her throat, still shuddering every few seconds as she stepped gingerly away from her bedroom. It was then that she saw the set of mugs she and Vaughn had bought at Pier 1, fantasizing about the day they could live together without worry. The mug her hand was on fell to the floor, shattering into a million pieces not unlike her heart had. The set was uneven now, three instead of four. Her hand pushed another down to the ground to meet its twin.  
  
For the first time, anger flushed her system, and she slammed the countertop with her fist. The clay jars sitting on the counters rattled against one another, leaving a high-pitched ring. The ring seemed to get to her, though. Sydney took a deep breath before going to the table and sitting at the closest chair, carefully setting her feet below the chair and her arms on the table. She placed her head in her hands, staring out the window; thinking, watching the sun bring the oak of the table to a soft glow. Slowly, she slipped into sleep.  
  
-  
  
Outside the club, Vaughn pondered returning to his apartment. His car was only yards away from him, and a glance at his watch informed him that it was nearing eleven o'clock. There was nothing to do, it seemed, than grab a pizza and watch some ESPN. Instead, inches from his sedan, he stopped, turned sharply, and re-entered the bar.  
  
Even if she wanted to kill him afterwards, he wouldn't leave without her.  
  
The smoky air hit him quickly; he hadn't noticed it before. Maybe it was because this time he had a goal, whereas the first time he had pushed the door open, he had been tailing Sydney. Squinting in the dim light (another feature he had not acknowledged previously), Sydney was nowhere to be found. Worried, as he usually was when Sydney was concerned, he pushed his way through the crowd to the bar, where he found a barkeep who looked at him strangely.  
  
"I've got a feeling."  
  
"That's nice," Vaughn replied hurriedly, still searching for Sydney.  
  
"If you're that woman in black's boyfriend, I've got something for you."  
  
This stopped Vaughn. He turned and focused on the man two feet away, ready to grab his collar and force him to tell him the information he knew. Instead of words, he received a glass filled with a strange dark colored liquid.  
  
"Trust me, I'd down that pretty quickly if I was you. You're not going to see her anytime soon."  
  
A fiery glint sparkled in Vaughn's eyes as he took the glass and poured its contents down his throat, swallowing the bitter liquid harshly. "Fuck."  
  
-  
  
The mission had ended, but both Sydney and Vaughn had gallons of adrenaline pulsing through their systems. Every few seconds they would glance at one another, still shocked at what they were getting away with. Not for the first time, Sydney cursed the size of the Bellagio as she and Vaughn ran through its multiple hallways that seemed endless. Her hand was intertwined with his and only the sheer excitement pounding through her was allowing her to follow him instead of leading.  
  
Finally, the room had appeared in front of them. They had registered it in Vaughn's mother's name, unknown to her. It was the only way they could get past Security Section. Vaughn took a deep breath and looked at Sydney, locking eyes. He pulled the passkey out of a pocket and slid it through the reader, unlocking the door.  
  
Nice had been too long ago.  
  
-  
  
She woke quite suddenly, afraid of the dream she had experienced with unbelievably vivid detail. Vaughn, seconds after debriefing her for a mission she didn't know, was sitting too close to Alice. It was like he forgot she existed already.  
  
There were two things she usually did when she was emotionally conflicted: call Vaughn, or go for a run. At the moment, both made her feel like crying again. She made up her mind, decided to do something completely out of the ordinary. Headed to her bedroom, looking for that black outfit she had bought years ago.  
  
-  
  
as jack bristow said, "There's rarely an end to the story." that seems to be the problem...  
i decided to visit some old characters we had left oh so long ago. fyi: that little section of chapter 6 was indeed a dream sequence.  
and this has indeed gone by the way of a good old soap opera. we dont have many of those any more. of course, i wouldnt know, but still...  
wow, pronouns are annoying 


	9. None other

Bloodred Senseless - Chapter 9: None other  
Sydney awoke to a gentle murmuring somewhere off to the side. She struggled to get out from underneath the multiple covers on her bed and get some fresh oxygen. A scratchy feeling nagged at her from all over, and she realized that she was wearing a white terry robe. It seemed too familiar, however, like she had seen it before but hadn't worn it.  
  
Freed from her goose-down shackles, Sydney sat up in the bed. At once she realized whose soft voice had woken her up; a proper English lilt traveled to her ears clearly now that she wasn't under the covers. Sark was standing in a corner of the room, his phone in hand, speaking angrily yet quietly to the voice on the other end. He didn't look her way at all as she crawled out of the bed and walked into the bathroom. She cast a glance at him before softly shutting the door.  
  
She first went to the mirror, examining her face. There was still a slightly red outline of a hand on her cheek—damn that man to hell, the asshole who had the inanity to hit her.  
  
Then she remembered a flash of a memory before her mind's eye went dark. She untied the robe and let it drop, turning around and craning her neck to see the reflection of where the bullet had hit. Something inside her wasn't surprised when she found it cleaned and bandaged. What did surprise her was that she felt nothing; absolutely nothing. No pain whatsoever.  
  
Though she knew better, Sydney ignored the feeling of worry that hit her when she realized that right now she should have been feeling something related to hell unleashed in her shoulder.  
  
She bent down pulled the robe back on, tying it tight. After she washed her face in cold water, she felt a faint fancy to do something to her hair—most of it was limply pressed against her skull. She raked her fingers through the strands of honey brown, fluffing it a little, pretending she didn't realize that there was no real reason for her to be doing this.  
  
-  
  
She left the bathroom a few seconds later, opening the door almost sliently. Sydney's bare feet—the word 'naked' flashed through her mind, like the rest of her under the robe—padded across the carpeted floor until she reached the bed once more. She sat on the edge of the bed, falling slightly into the down comforter. Her back was straight, and she pressed her legs against the bedframe. She looked at the painting hanging on the wall opposite her. What was meant to be beautiful swirls of gold and crimson and other colors made nausea overcome her until she turned away.  
  
Shivering, she stretched the robe across her body tightly. She was cold, and for the first time, she could feel the traces of hunger somewhere in the pit of her stomach. She could feel the hair on her arms pricking, trying to steal heat from their surroundings.  
  
For the first time, Sark moved from his place in the corner, phone still up to his ear. At first, she was on alert, ready to hurt him because this whole 'kidnapping' was probably his idea. Instead she stayed put, watching his crisp black suit move across the room to the thermostat, beside the painting Sydney had been watching earlier. He pushed the uppermost button, the one most likely with an arrow pointing upwards, repeatedly for what seemed like close to a minute.  
  
He then returned to his side of the room, this time pulling back the drapes slightly to look at the void that is the window. Letting go of the thick cloth, Sark moved towards Sydney slightly, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like "Morphine." He stopped about six feet short of her and turned around, facing a wall and placing his hand on the back of an armchair.  
  
-  
  
His endless phone calls never began to bother Sydney. She watched television and struggled to make the large bed. Finally, bored out of her mind, she turned off the television and headed once more towards the bathroom. She stopped at the door, realizing that Sark might pull a classic kidnapper move and tell her not to shut it. She then turned around slightly and dropped the robe to her waist, bare back exposed before stepping into the bathroom and away from the doorway.  
  
She took an extremely hot shower, even for her. The steam enveloped her senses, though a lot of it escaped through the open doorway. Every pore in her body was rejuvinated by the time she finished.  
  
After using one of the fluffy white towels to dry off her hair and body, she wrapped it around herself and went up to the mirror, clearing part of it with her hand. She took the gauze she had placed on the counter before her shower and looked at it. One side of it was bright red, the other pure white. She didn't ponder using it again; just took one of the hand towels and cut it to size using the complementary scissors in the sewing kit. She peeled the sticky bandage off the used gauze and stuck it on the back of the fragment of towel, then twisted around and placed it over the circular wound on her shoulder.  
  
She looked around for something to wear, dropping her robe in a pile beside the bathtub. She found another robe hanging on a hook behind the door and put it on, leaving the bathroom to search for her original clothing.  
  
Sydney found her pants and top in the closet, hung on two of the mahogany hangers. She slipped back into the bathroom and put them back on, along with the panties she had been wearing before.  
  
Having finished the last activity she could think of, Sydney stood in the room staring at the painting that had made her feel sick. She heard a beep behind her and saw Sark removing his phone from his ear. She walked up to him and stood a foot away, thinking. She placed a hand on his arm, speaking before he could.  
  
"What are you doing here? What am I doing here?"  
  
"I assure you, Agent Bristow, if I knew I would tell you."  
  
She snorted. "I highly doubt that, Sark."  
  
He started to dial another number on his phone and she stopped him. "Who are you calling?"  
  
"My, we're full of questions today, aren't we?"  
  
"Not just questions." She leaned in, pressing her lips against his.  
  
He backed away and looked at her strangely. A flash of recognition, and he spoke. "Not that I mind you in this state, Agent Bristow, but I doubt you're in your right mind right now."  
  
Sydney laughed. "Do you know how many puns you just used?" He responded with a slight smile and started to lift his phone again. She put a hand on his neck and kissed him again, only this time, he returned the favor. 


	10. If for something else

Bloodred Senseless - Chapter 10: If for something else  
Sydney's eyelids fluttered open. Sunlight was aimed directly at her through the large window to her right. Suddenly, she sat up in bed—the window in her room had been blacked out.  
  
She looked around, taking in her surroundings. This room (she was sure it wasn't hers) was furnished in stark white, from the wallpapered walls to the soft bedspreads that wrinkled as she attempted to get out of the bed. It was then that she realized she was without clothing. She stopped abruptly, jaw dropping as her mind figured everything out.  
  
Oh. My. Fucking. God.  
  
She found sweatpants and a t-shirt folded neatly on the chair closest to the bed. Hastily pulling them on, Sydney went to the bathroom door and started pounding on it with her fist. It pushed itself open and she stopped, staring at her reflection in the mirror. Her hair was disheveled, and as she frantically ran her fingers through it, she discovered an unmistakable red blotch on her neck.  
  
This was getting better and better.  
  
Temper flaring, she went to the door in the wall, assuming it was the door adjoining her room with this one. She hit it with her fist. The doorknob clicked almost immediately. It opened, revealing her original kidnapper.  
  
"Where's Sark?" she asked angrily, pushing past him and surveying the room.  
  
"He's gone."  
  
Though half of her was sighing in relief, she asked, "Since when?"  
  
"Since my shift started at five this morning."  
  
"Your shift?"  
  
"Yeah, you know: when one person's here for a block of time, then another comes, then another—"  
  
"I know what shifts are," she interrupted tersely. "He didn't say anything?"  
  
"Only that he upped your morphine level and you passed out thirty seconds later. Said not to bother you." He raised an eyebrow. "Why are you asking me?"  
  
She unconsciously pulled her collar up to cover her neck and replied simply. "Morphine?"  
  
"Yeah, so you didn't notice your shoulder. Heh, sorry about that."  
  
"Doesn't matter, I don't feel anything."  
  
He chuckled. "You will." With that, he pushed her out of the room and slammed the door shut.  
  
-  
  
Afraid that she would start to remember what happened, Sydney spent the rest of the day (she could now roughly tell the time of day by the sun) tidying up the room and lounging. It irked her that Sark had used morphine on her without her consent, but as evening grew closer she started to wish he was there with more.  
  
An impossible throbbing was making itself known in her shoulder. As the hours went on, it became more and more significant until she couldn't even move her arm anymore. She stood to go to the other room, wondering if there was any morphine in it. Sydney found herself wondering if Sark was there and smiling.  
  
She stopped in her tracks. What the hell had happened last night?  
  
Oh god, she thought, tell me this is not happening. She started towards the door again and knocked. Sark opened it. They stood in silence until Sydney said, "Do you have any more of that morphine you used on me last night?" A muscle twitched in his cheek as he stepped back to let her in. She left the door open behind her and sat on the bed. As he injected her with the clear liquid she asked, "So, how was last night?"  
  
"What are you implying, Agent Bristow?"  
  
"Nothing, just wondering how your night was."  
  
"Much better than yours, I'm sure. I went back to my apartment."  
  
"Oh." She watched as he removed the needle from her and carelessly tossed the syringe into the wastebasket beside him. The feeling in her arm started to disappear and she sighed. "Thank you." He only nodded in reply. Angered by his loss of words, she snapped at him. "What happened last night?"  
  
"If you're asking if we slept together, my only reply is that we were pretty damn close."  
  
"What do you mean by that?"  
  
He looked at her face for the first time. "It means that you passed out a few minutes after you kissed me."  
  
"I kissed you? How much morphine did you put in me?"  
  
"The standard dose for someone who has been shot."  
  
"And what's that, a gallon?" She turned to leave but spun around. "You know why I'm angry, but I just can't possibly tell you how relieved I am." He started to open his mouth but she cut him off. "And don't say anything about being the best I'd ever have. I have had pretty damn good."  
  
He smirked. "Took the words right out of my mouth." He touched his collar for a moment as she left.  
  
Once the door was safely closed, she leaned against it. "Lying bastard." 


End file.
